Lord Barst's Hunt for the One Ring
by LordBarst
Summary: After hearing rumors of the One Ring's ability to give its bearer everlasting life, Lord Barst leaves Alagaësia, traveling to Middle-Earth in search of the ring. But the overconfident Urû'baen general has no idea what dangers may lie in wait on his road...
1. A Stranger

_**Disclaimer:**__This crossover is purely a work of fan fiction. Lord Barst and the Inheritance Cycle were created by Christopher Paolini, and Middle-Earth and its characters/places belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. _

**Lord Barst's hunt for the One Ring**

**Chapter 1: A Stranger**

Lord Barst sat under a tree, smoking a pipe.

The smoke floated upwards, sifting through the leaves of the tree, and eventually disappearing into the night air. It was not usual for Barst to seclude himself like this, sitting all alone in silence. The Imperial ruler was used to the loud commotion of daily city life—the daily rabble of Uru'baen.

But this was not Uru'baen. This was not Alagaesia. This was Middle-Earth. And Barst was a stranger to this land.

Lord Barst continued sitting under the tree, looking out over a pond in the Gladden Fields. Barst had been searching these fields for days now, but his labors had produced no fruit. Barst was starting to grow irritated by this point. THIS is where The Ring was _supposed_ to be. The Mouth of The Necromancer had said so himself, before marking the location of the Gladden Fields on a map of Middle-Earth that he had given to Barst.

_The Mouth of The Necromancer_, Barst thought bitterly. That was what the grinning spook had called himself. After Barst had struck his deal with The Necromancer, The Mouth had ridden to Uru'baen to escort Barst to Middle-Earth, for Barst did not know how to get there from Alagaesia.

Much to Barst's surprise, his elf girlfriend Dew had offered to come along for the ride. With the guidance of The Mouth, Barst and Dew had entered Middle-Earth. That was the last time Barst had seen The Mouth, for the dark messenger had mysteriously disappeared as soon as he had given Barst the map. Barst had not liked that. He had not liked that at all.

"Mouth of The Necromancer? More like Ass of The Necromancer" muttered Barst to himself as he continued smoking his Alagaesian pipe. "I hope he got lost and then eaten by wolves." But the words that the lord spoke out loud did not coincide with his thoughts.

Barst figured that The Mouth had most likely gone straight to The Necromancer's fortress, to warn his master of Barst's arrival in Middle-Earth. What The Necromancer would do after receiving this piece of information… Lord Barst had no idea. Nonetheless, Barst tried to avoid bad thoughts on this matter. And so, Barst drifted off to sleep, as the water in the pond glowed brightly, reflecting the full moon.

But the warlord's mind was not easy. Shadows invaded his sleep. The cunning voice of The Necromancer echoed through Barst's head, as it had done so weeks earlier, when Barst had decided to leave Alagaesia in his quest for the ring:

"_Time will pass. You will die, Barst. Your body will wither away into dust. But Dew… she will live on, as is the way of the elves. Dew will live on long after you die. Hundreds of years will pass. Thousands. Dew will forget about you. She will meet many new people… she will fall in love again. You know this is the truth. It is inescapable."_

Barst tossed and turned in his sleep, but the poisonous words of The Necromancer continued to echo through his mind. Poisonous words who's power was rooted in stinging truth.

"_Your love for Dew has bred your worst fear. Most of all… you fear, that when you die… the one you love most, the one who you have given your heart to… won't remember you anymore. And that is worse than death for you, isn't it Barst? Because even death will not bring you peace anymore. You would die with the knowledge that your existence will be completely forgotten by the one you love."_

"_Dew will forget about you. Forever. Dew will FORGET-"_

Barst woke up with a cold sweat. And yet, his determination for finding the ring was renewed.

Everyone back home had doubted him. Morzan, Elspeth, Elva. Even Dew. But THIS is why he was undertaking this quest. So he could be with Dew forever. So that he could share an immortal life with her. Finding this ring was the only way to achieve such a goal, for as much as Barst mistrusted the dark mind of The Necromancer, the bastard had been right about one thing: he knew of the only way a mortal man could achieve immortality.

And Barst wanted immortality, _CRAVED_ it more than anything else. He knew The Necromancer was taking full advantage of that need, for whatever plans he may have… but Barst had no choice but to play along either way. The Uru'baen warlord was a man of action, and he had always lived his life in pursuit of his goals, never letting anyone get in his way. _This_ goal would be no different.

Barst got up, dusted himself off, and did his morning routine of muscle exercises. Then he put on his heavy plate-mail armor, picked up his huge black mace, and climbed on his horse. The morning sun was shining brightly over the Gladden Fields. But Barst did not care, for he was leaving these fields. He was a man of action, and he had realized that there was no action here.

Barst was not sure just _how_ he knew that the ring was not here. He just _knew_ it. Like a subconscious instinct that you just can't disregard.

Before he had disappeared, The Mouth of The Necromancer had explained to Barst why his master believed the ring was here in the Gladden Fields. Barst has been told the story of Isildur, the man who had "stolen" (as The Mouth put it) The Necromancer's ring. Isildur had been riding with a company of soldiers when their party had been ambushed by a band of orcs. Isildur was killed, but the ring had apparently slipped from his hand.

No trace of it had been found, and The Necromancer could no longer search the Gladden Fields himself, nor send any of his servants to search it, for the surrounding areas were heavily populated with elves from Mirkwood. For precisely this reason did The Necromancer need a human such as Barst to search for the ring. Dew had reluctantly convinced the elves that Barst meant no harm, so the elves allowed him safe passage as he had searched the Gladden Fields for several days. Thinking back on this, the Uru'baen commander shook his head at how pointless the search had been.

Barst spurred his big horse forward, riding southward, leaving the fields behind him. He was not quite sure why exactly he was going south, except that he had come from the north; to the west stood the giant Misty Mountains, and the vast Mirkwood stretched in the east, both of which Barst had no desire to cross. Perhaps it was his instinct again, subconsciously telling him that south is the right way to go.

Most of all though, Barst was looking for information. He was a stranger in this Middle-Earth, and he had no idea where the ring was. He had to gain _some_ information, _some_ hint as to its whereabouts.

As Barst continued to ride south, the wind blowing into his helmet, he thought about the deal he had made with The Necromancer. "A deal with the devil", some had called it. Barst had given those people an angry look, but he understood where they were coming from. Necromancer had promised Barst that if he found The Necromancer's ring, he would then craft Barst a ring just for himself, a ring that gave him immortality. _An exchange of rings_. Barst had agreed to the deal, but only as an open act. The lord of Uru'baen had his own agenda about how this "deal" was going to play out…

Using his tactical experience in these matters, Barst had gained as much information as possible to the dangers of his Middle-Earth quest before embarking on it. Some elves _had _heard of this "One Ring", and told Barst that The Necromancer would indeed grow vastly more powerful if he came into possession of it.

It became crystal clear to Barst that The Necromancer would have no reason to fulfill his end of the deal if Barst were to give him the One Ring. "Ring or no ring, I doubt The Necromancer could defeat me" said Barst, confidently feeling the big round Eldunarí stone that was hidden on the inside of his chest armor. "Yet, everyone seems pretty convinced that he'll become unstoppable if he gets his hands on it. So I'm not going to let that happen… just in case."

Barst smirked, mentally reviewing his plan to double-cross The Necromancer and take the One Ring back to Alagaesia, giving Barst immortality and leaving The Necromancer with nothing. "A mighty gift from Middle-Earth to decorate the halls of Uru'baen where myself and Dew would walk for all eternity" proudly said Barst. The trouble was that he had no idea where the ring could be. And neither did The Necromancer. He and Barst were competing in a dangerous and unpredictable race. A race that Lord Barst intended to WIN.

The one advantage Barst and the rest of the Alagaesians had over The Necromancer is that they knew his true identity. They knew that he was actually Sauron, the dark lord of old who had been a great enemy to the free peoples of Middle-Earth in the second age. Sauron had apparently been hiding his identity under the guise of "The Necromancer" for years, believing that nobody would be capable of discovering his real name. Sauron could then use his enemy's lack of knowledge to his advantage, and manipulate them in any way he wished. But that advantage was no longer his.

The Imperial lord wondered if The Necromancer suspected that Barst did indeed know of the true power of the One Ring.

"Because if he does…", pondered the Uru'Baen general out loud, "then surely he would also suspect that I would try to take the ring for myself. Which means that he would anticipate my plan to double-cross him… and things could get quite messy then." If there's one thing Barst had learned about The Necromancer/Sauron, it's that he was extremely cunning. "But nobody is more cunning than Lord Barst" he thought with a smirk, expelling his worries once again.

And so, Barst raced south, looking for houses, dwellings, anything that might contain someone who could give him information as to where the ring could be. Barst checked his map—he was in the Field of Celebrant now, the great river Anduin snaking along beside him. There were no signs of houses, only a deserted landscape stretching for miles as far as the eye could see. Barst felt lonely again. That strange feeling he was not used to. He thought of Dew.

They had parted ways several days ago, while Barst was still pointlessly searching the Gladden Fields. It had been extremely hard to convince her to go back to Alagaesia. Women were stubborn creatures, no matter what race they belonged to, thought Barst.

But thankfully, Barst had been able to convince Dew that this mission was anything but safe, and extremely unpredictable to say the least. Barst explained that he could not properly concentrate on doing anything, especially fighting, if Dew was with him. He had never doubted her… "elven skills" for one second during their entire relationship, but nonetheless, Barst just felt better if he knew she was back home in the forest, safe.

Dew had been accompanied by a party of Elves from the wooden realm of King Thranduil. They had safely escorted her back to Alagaesia. Barst sighed, thankful that he didn't have to worry about her anymore, and could focus his full attention on this mission.

But his mind was still uneasy. For he had not told Dew the _real_ reason why he felt that she was not safe.

A familiar chill crept up Lord Barst's spine. He had felt it before. He looked over his shoulder instinctively, but as usual, there was nothing there but barren, empty land.

Barst had not told Dew the real reason he had sent her away. He was now reminded of that reason.

Barst was being followed. Of this he was sure. And he was being followed by something sinister.


	2. The Dark Tower

**Chapter 2: The Dark Tower**

Lord Barst was being followed. He was _sure_ of this. And he was _sure_ that he was being followed by something sinister.

Over the course of his life, a warrior learned to trust his instincts. Barst had always been involved in politics, and he was good at playing that game. His cunning, his intelligence, and his huge ego had been the reasons why the Imperial lord had risen so quickly in the eyes of Galbatorix, from Councilman, to Mayor, and then to Lord.

_Yes, I've always been a good politician_, thought Barst. But at his core, the lord of Uru'baen had always been a warrior. He had always enjoyed battle, or more specifically, he had always enjoyed hurting people more than he enjoyed anything else.

In his heart, Lord Barst was a warrior. So when he found himself in a possibly dangerous situation, Barst trusted his instincts above all else.

And _this _was a possibly dangerous situation. Because Barst had no idea who, or WHAT was following him.

Every time Barst felt a chill creep up his spine, he turned around. But there was never anyone there. Only the barren landscape of Middle-Earth, stretching as far as his eye could see.

_Whatever is following me is DAMN good at playing hide and seek_, thought Barst.

He had noticed that this feeling of being followed, of being _watched_, was always much stronger at night than it was during the daytime. This is why Barst often took his naps during the day, while sitting under a tree.

He had trouble falling asleep at night, as he could feel the sinister presence watching him from somewhere in the shadows. Sometimes, Barst had had enough. He got up and yelled "SHOW YOURSELF!" at the top of his lungs. But nobody ever answered him. The shadows remained as unmoving as ever.

So Barst continued riding south, and the sinister presence followed. He had passed the Field of Celebrant several days ago, and was now riding in a rocky, flat landscape. A landscape that was rather suited to riding horses in.

He checked his map. Barst was now in the region of Rohan.

Barst looked north. He saw a big dust cloud advancing toward him, moving very fast. It looked like a battalion of horsemen.

Barst stopped his horse, realizing that it was extremely unlikely the riders would just ride past him, and he did not want to stir up their suspicion by quickly riding away from them.

The dust cloud was upon him now. It was indeed a company of horsemen, and they immediately surrounded Barst, forming a perfect circle around him, blocking his escape. Barst instinctively fingered his mace, his muscles readying themselves for battle if things should get ugly.

The horsemen looked at Barst sternly, their long hair waving in the wind behind their helmets. One rider, who appeared to be their leader, rode forward and dismounted his horse. He addressed Barst.

"I am Fírmark of Rohan, Captain of the Eastfold" said the rider in a bold tone, as if expecting Barst to recognize the name and show him the proper welcome. But Barst of course, did not. "

And I… am Lord Barst"

"Never heard of you" replied Fírmark absentmindedly. The Rohan captain could tell much about a man's character from a first impression, and he figured that Barst was the kind of man who would get easily irritated from being addressed in such a manner. Barst clearly did, which amused Fírmark greatly.

"What business do you have in the Riddermark?" inquired Fírmark. "My business is my own" replied Barst in a flat tone. "So if you're done playing sheriff, let me go."

"Usually… I would" said Fírmark. "But unfortunately, these lands are not as peaceful as they once were. We can no longer afford to trust any stranger that walks in the Riddermark. Wicked folk have been spotted here lately."

Fírmark looked to the east, and the muscles on his face tensed.

"There are rumors that the shadow in Mirkwood has grown in strength. Our scouts inform us that The Necromancer has been sending orcs from Dol Guldur to populate the Misty Mountains. He is trying to bar the passes and fortify the mountain, so that there can be no safe passage west. Many times now, we have seen groups of orcs heading for the Misty Mountains. The King of Rohan has ordered us to trample and destroy any orcs we find."

Barst looked away when The Necromancer's name was mentioned. Fírmark saw this and looked at Barst more sternly.

"So… I will ask you once again, Barst of Uru'baen. What business do you have in the Riddermark? Are you a spy of The Necromancer? Whose side are you on?"

Barst looked at the rider sternly as well. "And I will tell YOU once again, _Fírmark of Rohan…_"said Barst mockingly "That my business is my own, not yours. As for whose side I'm on… Well, I am on the side that I've always been on, and that is Lord Barst's side."

The horsemen that were surrounding Barst rode a little closer to the Imperial lord, their horses snorting directly in his face now. Barst did not appreciate this. He would have none of it.

"Would you please be courteous enough to tell your horsemen to back off? Because if they do not…" warned Barst, "I _promise_ that this big mace of mine is going to go straight up every single one of their asses."

Every single Rohan horseman drew their sword, pointing it directly at Lord Barst, who dismounted his horse and tightened his grasp on the large spiked mace in his hands. Fírmark appeared confident, seeing that Barst was severely outnumbered.

"You talk to ME about courtesy, you meathead?" spat Fírmark angrily. "Yet _you_ are the one intruding on a foreign land, and threatening one of its commanders despite the fact that you stand no chance against him. Do you know what my men call me? Fírmark Quickspear. For I can bring out my spear and impale you between the eyes faster than you can lift your mace one inch off the ground."

Barst did not seem impressed by Fírmark's nickname.

"Quickspear huh? Perhaps I should call you Lackspear, for I see no spear upon you!" said Lord Barst, and grinned.

"You don't…?" said Fírmark and his hand moved rapidly, faster than Barst could keep track of it, reaching behind Fírmark and pulling out a sharp spear, pointing it directly at Lord Barst's throat!

But the wards surrounding Barst, powered by his Eldunarí, prevented the spear from going any further. Fírmark's spear remained suspended in the air an inch away from Bart's throat. The horsemen gasped, never having seen anything like this before.

"What is this sorcery?" exclaimed Fírmark, withdrawing his spear. He looked at Barst differently now, not with confidence, but with a mix of fear and curiosity.

"Look…" sighed Barst as he lowered his mace. "We can be here all day, but both us of have more important things to do. It is clear that you won't let me go unless I tell you what I'm doing here. Fine."

Barst looked into Fírmark's eyes. "I am on nobody's side. I am not a friend of The Necromancer's, or a friend of Rohan. But I have no reason to attack your lands, so you can relax. I'm here on a very special mission, and I need to gather as much information as possible about it. I am looking for a magical ring. Would you happen to know anything about that? Or do you know someone who does?"

Fírmark continued looking at Barst with fear and curiosity, not entirely trusting him. But the captain of Rohan searched Barst's face, and could see no lies written upon it.

"Magical ring you say? I do not deal with these matters, and in my opinion, normal men should stay away from such things. However… I do know of someone who might have knowledge of this."

The rest of the horsemen muttered something amongst themselves and nodded to each other, as if they too knew someone who had knowledge of magical items. Barst thought he overheard the word "white" and the word "tower", but he could not be sure.

Fírmark counseled with his riders in a hushed tone, before turning around to address Barst.

"There is _one_ who would know of this. Saruman. The old man. The white wizard. He dwells in Isengard, in the tower of Orthanc, and has been a great adviser to the people of Rohan for many a year. If anyone can help you, it is him."

"If you say so. Well then, to Isengard I go", said Barst, and sternly looked at the horsemen around him. Fírmark nodded to his riders, and they backed off, allowing Barst to pass.

"I trust you when you say that you mean the people of Rohan no harm." Said Fírmark. "But nonetheless… I warn you that this is NOT your land, and you should not stay here long. I hope our paths do not cross again. You are a strange man" Said Fírmark and mounted his horse, preparing to ride off with the rest of his men.

"I hope our paths don't cross again too", said Barst. "Because you smell like horse manure."

Fírmark gave him a look which Barst paid no attention to, as he got on his big horse and spurred it on again.

Barst now rode west towards Isengard. And the sinister presence followed.

It was night when he reached Isengard, first spotting the great black tower of Orthanc rising above the horizon, the full moon shining directly above it. Barst marveled at Orthanc, for there were no towers of such grand design in Alagaesia. He pleasantly thought about building one in the middle of Uru'baen.

Barst rode to the foot of Orthanc and dismounted his horse. It was quiet. Very quiet. All manner of beasts, birds, and men were asleep at this hour. Yet Barst could feel that the sinister presence was still watching him. Apparently it did not sleep.

Barst climbed the steps and knocked on the iron door of Orthanc. Nobody answered. He knocked again. No answer. He knocked a third time.

"Come on old man," said Barst, growing irritated. "I don't have all night. Get your ass to the door."

Barst decided that he would keep knocking until Saruman answered. The Uru'baen lord had never been a fan of manners.

And so, Barst just kept knocking. And knocking. And knocking…

Finally, a loud clattering sound came from inside Orthanc, and the sound of footsteps coming down stairs echoed. Barst looked up at the balcony above the door, where Saruman emerged, looking rather disheveled and very irritated.

The white wizard spoke, and Barst immediately made note of how powerful his voice was. Saruman's voice sounded almost as cunning as The Necromancer's. _With a voice like that, _Barst thought unpleasantly, _Saruman could probably convince Elspeth to murder a bunny_.

"What manner of buffoon has the gall to disturb me at this late hour?" said Saruman angrily. "Is it not customary for one to SLEEP at this time?"

"You can sleep when you're dead." answered Barst with his usual arrogance. "And taking your age into account, that won't be very far off."

Saruman had no tolerance for his visitor's jokes, especially when he had just been woken from a deep sleep. "Dead? DEAD? If you continue to act with such insolence, it is YOU, not I, who shall find his death not very far off!"

But Barst's overconfidence did not seem to waver after hearing the wizard's threat:

"Woah! Calm down grandpa, we wouldn't want you to get a heart attack, now would we? I am simply looking for information. And everyone besides you is asleep."

Saruman's face twisted in rage, and he seemed to grow taller, the sleepiness disappearing from his features. A rumble was heard in the sky above, equivalent to the sound of thunder approaching.

"INFORMATION?" barked Saruman. "What do you think this is, a tourist visiting center? I am not some fool to be burdened with the common grievances of simpletons and peasants! You have tested my patience… LONG ENOUGH!"

Saruman pointed his staff at Lord Barst. The Uru'baen general knew he had to act fast.

"I am looking for a magical ring! A ring that once belonged to The Necromancer!"said Barst quickly.

Saruman paused. He lowered his staff and raised his eyebrows.

"What did you say?" inquired the white wizard. A strange light was shining in Saruman's eyes. Barst was not sure he liked that light. He had seen it in the eyes of men before, when they had spotted an object they had craved for a long time.

"Ah, it seems I finally got your attention." said Barst proudly. "I was told that you knew of magical objects. I hope that's true. Cause if it's not, I might as well turn my horse around…"

"No!" said Saruman suddenly, surprising Barst. "Forgive me, for I am not accustomed to being awake at this late hour, so I was a bit cranky. Please forgive me."

Saruman's tone had turned very gentle now, almost _soothing _in a melodic way. The irritated tone he had earlier was gone, replaced by a pitifully weak old-man voice. A voice that was practically _begging_ Barst to stay. Once again, Barst was amazed at how Saruman could manipulate his tone to persuade the minds of others. This wizard was clearly not to be taken lightly.

"I am _always_ interested in magical rings." said Saruman cheerfully. "You have certainly come to the right place. Please, let us go inside and discuss your business. Please, do come in."

The wizard then climbed down and unlocked the door to Orthanc, letting Barst in. When Barst was inside, Saruman peered behind him and shut the door, locking it again. Saruman lit a few candles, and the room was illuminated in warm light. Dozens of old parchments were piled up on tables. Saruman poured Barst a cup of Rohan wine and the two men sat down opposite each other.

Saruman observed Barst's face very intently, Barst doing the same to the wizard, but Saruman's face remained cheerful, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.

"Why do you want to find The Necromancer's ring?" asked Saruman curiously. But Barst could tell that the wizard desperately wanted an answer to this question, despite the fact that Saruman's tone of voice remained cheerful.

"That's not important right now." answered Barst flatly as he sipped his wine. "What's important is where the ring IS. I have no idea. That is the reason I have come to you. I was hoping you could provide me with some information that could point me in the right direction."

Saruman continued watching Barst closely. Despite the fact that he had poured wine for himself as well, he had not drank from his cup yet.

"I see." said the wizard, appearing to be in deep thought for a moment. "But surely, you must have had _some_ idea of where the ring could be?"

"Well, I thought it was in the Gladden Fields. I searched there for several days but found nothing. So here's what I think: The ring WAS there, but now it's somewhere else. The only question is, what happened to it?" said Barst.

Saruman continued observing Barst and nodded, waiting for him to say more.

"Now, if there's _one _thing I know about magical objects, it's that they don't just disappear, never to be seen again. They always turn up somewhere. It's like they have a mind of their own, or the magic they contain protects them from getting buried deep into the ground or just sinking in the ocean. If _The Necromancer_ of all people wants this ring, it must be pretty damn special Which means it contains a lot of magic. Things like that don't get lost. They're _always_ found."

Saruman continued watching Barst like an old hawk, as the Imperial lord spoke.

"Someone must have found the ring and hoarded it away somewhere. I need a list of every single civilization that has ever lived in the Gladden Fields. There has to be _some_ record of a magical ring in their histories." said Barst, looking at Saruman eagerly.

The white wizard shook his head, clearly disappointed that Barst did not have many facts on his side. "Yes… the Stoor Hobbits dwelt there centuries ago. 'The River Folk'. They _did_ leave written record, which I have collected here and read. But I am sorry to say… that there is no mention of a ring of power in their histories."

For a moment, Barst's hopes of finding the ring were nearly extinguished. But he had not come all this way to give up so easily.

"Still… I would like to read their histories. Just in case you missed something." said Barst.

This insinuation clearly offended Saruman, but nonetheless he led Barst to one of the upper levels of Orthanc, where he had amassed an impressive collection of historical texts. Saruman brought out a stack of parchments and placed them in front of Barst, who sat down on a chair and began to read through them. Thankfully, the parchments were written in the Common Speech, so Barst could understand them.

For several days, Barst read through the Stoor Hobbit texts. He found nothing of any importance, and began to lose hope when the pile of papers became very small. But he did not give up. He kept thinking about Dew, and that kept his spirits up.

After 2 days of laborious reading, Barst finally found something interesting , Something _very_ interesting indeed:

"_We are saddened by our decision to exile one of our own kind, but it must be done for the well-being of the village. __Murders, thefts, and rapes are being reported ever more frequently, and there is no doubt as to who the culprit is. All reports describe an 'invisible attacker, never seen until he strikes.' It is obvious that this can only be Sméagol."_

Barst read on, his curiosity growing:

"_Hobbits are now afraid to go out alone. They shut their windows and lock their doors. Never before have we behaved liked this. __Sméagol must be exiled. We must no longer consider him a Hobbit, for he has become something else entirely. Ever since he found that cursed trinket in the Gladden Fields, he has become more deadly than any of our kind."_

"Trinket", thought Barst out loud. "That could be another word for ring…"

He read that last sentence several times, each time becoming more sure that the trinket Sméagol had found in the Gladden Fields was indeed The Necromancer's ring.

Barst found one last piece of parchment that mentioned Sméagol:

"_The criminal Sméagol has been exiled to the Misty Mountains. There he will remain forever, due to the curse his trinket has bestowed upon him."_

"There is no doubt now" said Barst, his spirits rising higher than ever. "They're obviously referring to the ring granting Sméagol eternal life. No wonder Saruman did not notice this. He was looking too hard for a specific mention of a ring of power, so he missed these small clues."

Barst knew what he had to do now. He had to go look for Sméagol in the Misty Mountains. If the ring really _did_ grant eternal life, Sméagol should still be there. It was the best chance Barst had of finding the ring, in any case.

Barst picked up his gear, ready to continue his journey at last. He tried to leave Orthanc without Saruman's knowledge, but the wizard was waiting for him on one of the lower levels of the tower.

"How goes your progress with the Stoor Hobbit parchments, Barst? Have you discovered anything of interest?" said the cunning wizard in that melodic, old-man voice. As hard as Barst tried, he could not lie to that kindly old man and tell him that he had found nothing.

Perhaps it was the magically persuasive power of Saruman's voice, but Barst simply _could not_ bring himself to lie. It was the first time the arrogant warlord had ever felt this way. Barst never had any trouble lying to people, except maybe to Dew.

"Yes… I found something." said Barst, struggling with himself, trying to fight the urge to tell Saruman the truth. But he could not. "The Stoors have records of a Hobbit who discovered a 'cursed trinket' and then exiling that Hobbit to the Misty Mountains, where they said he would remain forever, because of his curse. I'm positive that they are referring to the ring."

Saruman's eyes widened as he extracted the truth from Barst. The wizard was clearly appalled that a mortal man had discovered the location of the One Ring, when a member of the Istari had not.

"Oh, and there's one more thing I need to ask you about before I go." said Barst, taking great pleasure at Saruman's reaction. "I am being followed by something. But every time I turn around to get a look at it, it isn't there_."_

Barst looked Saruman right in the face, his expression completely serious now. "Whatever is following me is evil. I am sure of this. I NEED to know what it is before I can proceed on my journey."

Saruman nodded towards the balcony, as if he knew exactly what Barst was talking about.

Barst went to it and looked out over Isengard. Barst could _feel_ the sinister presence down there, watching him. Always watching. He felt a chill creep up his spine, and shuddered.

"You are being followed by a Nazgûl." said Saruman gravely.

The name meant nothing to Barst. "Nazgûl?" he said. "Is that like a shade?"

"Worse." replied Saruman. "You can kill a can't kill a Nazgûl. They are neither living nor dead. Mighty kings of old they were, now they are wraiths in service of The Necromancer. Invisible to the human eye. Shadows of malice and fear."

After hearing the description of his pursuer, Barst stiffened. "They serve The Necromancer? But that means…"

"It means that as soon as you find the One Ring, the Nazgûl will kill you, take the ring, and deliver it to its master." answered Saruman, his face serious.

Barst looked more irritated than concerned. "Now hold on there, old man. Killing me isn't as easy as you make it sound. I have wards protecting me."

"Wards?" scoffed Saruman. "Your wards pose little concern to a Nazgûl. They possess weapons enchanted with dark magic. Able to cut through wards like a knife cuts through butter."

_Now_ Barst was concerned. He had not expected to deal with such enemies on his mission for the ring.

"Do you see now, Barst?" said Saruman. "Your quest is DOOMED. It was always doomed. The Necromancer is no fool. You are leading his Nazgûl _straight_ to the One Ring."

Barst continued looking out over Isengard, feeling the evil presence of the Nazgûl watching him from down below.

Was Saruman right? Was Barst's hunt for the ring doomed?

"You cannot do this alone," said Saruman, using his kindly and persuasive voice again. "You need my help."

"You are _NOT_ coming with me, if that's what you had in mind." snapped Barst, determined to overcome the manipulative power of Saruman's voice. "This is MY mission, old man. I will do this alone. And if I have to fight that Nazgûl and BarstSmash his ass back to whatever hole he crawled out of, then… that's what I'm going to do!"

But Barst had his doubts. What could he do against a creature he could not see, or kill?

"You misunderstood me, Barst. I had no intention of going with you." said Saruman. "But you _do_ need my help against the Nazgûl. So I will give you this…"

Saruman placed an amulet around the neck of Barst. The warlord looked at it, confused.

"This will protect you against the Nazgûl's sorcery. Wear it at all times. It is the only hope you have of thwarting The Necromancer's plan to steal the ring once you find it." said Saruman.

There was a strange light in Saruman's eyes again. Barst did not like it. But he had no choice. He had to believe the wizard's amulet could aid him.

With Saruman's amulet hanging around his neck, Barst said goodbye to the white wizard and left Orthanc. Saruman stood on the steps of the tower and watched Barst leave.

And so, Lord Barst departed Isengard, heading for the Misty Mountains to search for Sméagol.

The Nazgûl followed.


	3. Barst Gets Trolled

**Chapter 3: Barst Gets Trolled**

"This elvish bread tastes like crap. Elves can live forever… you'd think they'd have enough time to learn how to make decent bread."

Lord Barst disdainfully ate the Lembas Bread he had been given by the elves for his journey. Much to his surprise, only several small bites of the bread were enough to fill the large warlord's stomach. A fact he was all too happy about, as he preferred to eat as little of the stuff as possible.

Barst was sitting in a small cave which was situated inside a cliff in the Misty Mountains. A campfire was burning next to him, keeping him warm from the frigid temperatures of the outside air. His horse was further in the cave, tied to a sharp rock that protruded from the cavern's wall.

From the shelter of his warm cave, Barst looked out over the Misty Mountains, which were now covered with a downpour of heavy rain, obscuring much of Barst's sight into the valley below.

But he did not need to _see_ the valley to know that there was someone down there. Or rather… _something_ down there. Something always watching him.

The Nazgûl.

Saruman had told him about the Nazgûl, and had given him a magical amulet, which according to the white wizard, would "protect" Barst against the Nazgûl's magic. Barst was suspicious. But he had no choice. He had no other ideas about how to fight a Nazgûl. Barst hadn't even known of their existence before stepping into Middle-Earth.

Barst fingered Saruman's amulet, which was hanging around his neck. _I hope I don't have to use this anytime soon_, thought the Alagaesian. _But if I do… it damn sure better work_.

The Nazgûl was following Barst, in the hopes that Barst would lead it to its master's ring. And once the ring was discovered and the Nazgûl no longer needed Barst, things would get very ugly, very fast.

As Barst continued looking out over the Misty Mountains, thinking about the future of his quest, a crack at the back of the cave got wider. And wider. And wider…

The crack at the back of the cave continued expanding, until it was the size of a doorway.

Two orcs stepped out.

As silently as ghosts, the two orcs reached out to grab Barst's horse, trying to pull it into their tunnel.

"About freaking time. What took you guys so long?" said Barst out loud.

The two orcs froze. They looked at each other, rather surprised. Barst turned around and looked at the orcs with a bored expression.

"Are you two buffoons gonna stand there all day and look pretty? Or are you gonna help me out here? I'm a guest in your land, and I demand to be treated as such." proclaimed Barst in a high tone, as if he was talking to his own soldiers back in Urû'baen.

One of the orcs, the taller one, raised his eyebrows at Barst in surprise. "Who do you think you are, ordering us around like some common rats! And what are you doing here? Don't you know that this is OUR mountain?"

Barst stood up straighter, all of the sudden appearing very royal and commanding. The Imperial general was used to intimidating scum, and these two orcs would be no different. This gesture had the intended effect, as the orcs took a step back, almost cowering at the sight of Barst's huge muscles.

"Who do I think I am? I think I'm Lord freaking Barst, and unless you want that to be the LAST name you ever hear again on this good earth, you better wise up, get your heads out of your asses, and show me some damn courtesy. And by the way… get your grubby hands off my horse, unless you want ME to put my hands on YOU." said Barst boldly.

Upon hearing this, the orcs shrieked, and immediately withdrew their hands from Barst's horse as if they would get cut off.

"There. Now _that's_ more like it. Look, I don't have all day here, so I'm gonna make this short and sweet", said Barst. "I know this is your mountain. That's why I'm here. I need to speak with your leader. Take me to him. NOW."

The orcs obeyed immediately, gesturing for Barst to follow them down their tunnel. Barst picked up his mace and his traveling bag and lead his horse inside the tunnel.

As soon as Barst was inside the tunnel, he ordered the orcs to seal the entrance back up. Nobody would be getting inside now.

Barst had no idea how to fight the Nazgûl. But he had a very good idea of how _not_ to fight it. Now the Nazgûl was trapped on the outside of the mountain, with no way of getting in. Barst grinned.

The orcs lead him down a long series of winding tunnels, going down for miles and miles into the very heart of the Misty Mountains. Down down down, to Goblin Town.

Eventually, the orcs lead him to the throne room of the Great Goblin himself. The orc leader was sitting on his throne, with two guards flanking him on each side. The extremely large orc king looked up with disdain when Barst and his horse entered the throne room. Barst scowled, not taking too kindly to the Goblin King either.

"Who is this maggot and what is he doing here?" barked the Great Goblin to the two orcs that had accompanied Barst, who looked down in shame when the Great Goblin looked at them.

"H- he- he wanted to speak with you, m- my lord!" stammered one of the orcs, ashamed to admit that Barst had ordered them around like he was their master.

"Speak with me?" Inquired the Great Goblin, eying Barst's massive mace with disdain.

"Well go ahead then, scum! Speak! But speak quickly, because it is almost dinner time, and I happen to fancy… _horse_ at the moment" said the goblin king. Saliva dripped down his large neck as he looked at Barst's horse hungrily.

"You look like you've had far too many horses already, you fat son of a bitch." answered Barst with his classic arrogance.

The Great Goblin shrieked in anger after hearing Barst's reply. Nobody had ever addressed him like that in his lifetime. The orcs in the throne room shrieked as well and looked at Barst in amazement, never having seen someone talk down to their tyrannical ruler in this manner.

Barst looked around in surprise. "What? It wouldn't exactly hurt you to lose some weight. Instead of sitting on that throne all day and stuffing your face, why don't you go out get some exercise? These tunnels are pretty long. Perfect for jogging."

The Great Goblin was glaring at Barst like a madman. His mouth was foaming in anger, spit dripping down his neck and chest.

"Now, I was wondering if you could help me." said Barst. "I'm looking for this guy named Sméagol. Do you know of him? I heard he lives in the Misty Mountains somewhere."

But this only served to infuriate the goblin king further. Only two types of visitors ever came into his throne room: Those who brought him gifts and riches, and those who begged him to spare their lives. Lord Barst was neither.

"First you trespass in my mountain, then you insult me, and NOW you want information from me!?" barked the Great Goblin, spit flying out of his mouth in all directions. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?"

Barst decided not to say anything this time. He sternly looked at the two orcs that had accompanied him.

"He's… he's Lord Barst!" said one of the orcs, clearly showing more fear for the name than when he heard it the first time.

Barst grinned. "You heard 'em. I'm Lord Barst. And I want to know if you've heard of Sméagol. Now… we can do this the easy way…"

Barst put his hand on his mace. "Or we can do this the hard way."

The Great Goblin noticed this gesture, but his fury had overpowered any sense of caution. "No, I haven't heard of "Sméagol"! And this is the last time anyone will hear from YOU!"

The goblin king stood up and pointed to Barst, his eyes blazing with rage.

"I want his head on a stake! GUARDS!"

Loud war-cries were heard all around the throne room, echoing into the tunnels, rousing orcs everywhere. The goblin king's guards raised their weapons and rushed at Barst.

Lord Barst grinned and raised his mace. "The hard way it is."

The battle began.

The two guards simultaneously raised their long axes and brought them down upon Barst, but the wards surrounding Barst's body, powered by the magic of his Eldunarí_, _stopped the axes in their tracks. The two guards gaped in shock.

Barst sneered_. _

_"_MY TURN_."_

The lord raised his mace and swept it horizontally, bashing the two guards at the same time and compressing their bodies like a harmonica. They went flying across the throne room and landed right at the feet of the Great Goblin, who was being evacuated by another pair of orcs.

The sound of many drums echoed in the throne room, and orc soldiers rushed at Barst from all directions.

The Alagaesian warlord raised his mace and brought it down directly on the skull of the first orc, causing his entire head to cave into his chest.

Barst then turned around and swept his mace in a circular motion, mowing down every orc around him like he's cutting down a line of trees. The orcs went flying in all directions, colliding with the wall of the throne room and then dropping down with a thud. A few orcs managed to stab at Barst with their daggers, but his wards prevented any damage from being done. With a swing of his mace, those orcs were shattered like pieces of glass.

Orcs continued to rush at Barst. The Urû'baen general swung his mace like an expert, felling any orc it touched. Severed heads, arms, legs, and broken daggers were flung all over the throne room, belonging to any orc that got too close to Barst.

Orcs poured in from all directions, totally surrounding Barst. There was a brief pause in the battle, like the calm before the storm.

Barst stood in the circle of orcs, his mace raised. Gore and orc blood stained his thick armor, but the warlord showed no signs of fatigue.

"Is that all you got?" Sneered Barst. "Pathetic. I actually expected to break a sweat! You clowns fight worse than the Varden! And I never thought I'd say that..."

The orcs gave out a war-cry and rushed at Barst like a thunderstorm. For a moment, Barst disappeared in the great mass of moving bodies. He seemed to be outmatched by the overwhelming numbers of the orcs.

Then suddenly, orcs were flung in all directions, from the center of the circle outward. The muscular, armored body of Barst reappeared again in the midst of the orcs, smashing his way through the mass of bodies with ease.

The orcs went shrieking in all directions, their retreat fueled by the fear they now had of Lord Barst, and the wrath he brought down upon them.

The Urû'baen war machine continued beasting on the orcs, plowing down anyone foolish enough to stand before him. Soon, the goblin king's throne room was littered with the carcasses of Barst's destruction.

"Running away already, boys? I'm just getting warmed up!" yelled Barst after the retreating groups of orcs, who shuddered at the very sound of his booming voice.

The orcs disappeared into their many tunnels, leaving Barst alone in the throne room. The conquering warlord began laughing.

"Back when I was a kid, those wimpy nerds I always bullied used to tell me, 'Why don't you pick on someone your own size?' But the trouble was, there was never anyone my size! I was always the biggest, strongest kid on the playground. Apparently, that's the case here too. I'm still the biggest kid on the playground. So I guess I'll just continue picking on the wimps!"

Barst started heading for one of the tunnels to look for more orcs to slaughter, but after a couple steps, he stopped dead in his tracks.

_BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

A dull thudding sound echoed through the halls of the Misty Mountains.

_BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

The thuds sounded closer. And closer. Barst thought it sounded like… footsteps.

_BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM_

The booming footsteps shook the throne room, causing some dirt to fall off the ceiling. Barst realized that the footsteps came from one of the iron gates of the throne room. He turned his attention toward it, readying his mace at the same time.

Something was coming. Something big.

A massive cave troll burst out of the iron gate, smashing it as easily as if it were made of cardboard.

The troll's gaze immediately fell on the man in the center of the room: Lord Barst. The gray-skinned monstrosity roared at Barst, a sound that shook the entire throne room and echoed throughout the many tunnels of the Misty Mountains.

Barst grinned, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was no longer the biggest kid on the playground. He welcomed the challenge this situation presented.

"Now THAT'S more like it." said Barst, and grinned.

The cave troll roared again at Barst, spit flying out of its mouth. It wielded a huge spiked mace in its hands. A mace that was twice the size of Barst's.

Barst gave out a loud war cry and rushed at the troll, his massive opponent doing the same. Man and troll collided in the middle of the throne room, and started doing battle.

The cave troll raised its gigantic mace and brought it down on the Urû'baen general, intending to squash him like a bug. Barst dodged the blow by diving between the cave troll's legs. The troll's mace collided with the floor of the throne room, creating a huge crater where it landed.

Barst quickly reached his feet and turned around, the troll doing the same. Both gladiators raised their maces and swung them towards each other. The weapons collided in mid-air with a loud clash, and locked together in a stalemate.

Barst pushed forward as hard as he could, hoping to overpower the troll, who did the same thing, pushing against its mace. Their weapons continued to be locked together as neither warrior gave in, and the test of strength continued.

The Eldunarí stone inside Barst's chest armor continued to supply him with strength and energy, but the troll's natural strength proved to be a match for even the dragon's magic. Barst knew that the energy within his Eldunarí would not last forever, while the troll's energy would be its own, and would therefore likely last longer.

Barst knew it would be risky to test the limits of his Eldunarí.

The stalemate continued. The cave troll roared at Barst, spit flying from its mouth directly into Barst's eyes, temporarily blinding him. Barst staggered back, loosening his grip on his mace for an instant.

The troll took advantage of this and pushed harder, causing Barst to stagger back again. The troll then swung its mace sideways, hitting Barst directly. The warlord went flying and collided against the wall of the throne room, smashing it. Barst's mace went flying out of his hands as well, landing on the floor quite a large distance away from him.

A blow like that would have killed any normal man, but thankfully the wards surrounding Barst protected his life. However, he could feel the energy of his Eldunarí drop significantly, due to the force of the troll's blow.

Barst realized that without his mace, he was now on the defensive. The troll lumbered toward him and brought its mace down upon him once again, but Barst was able to dodge the blow, only getting hit by the shattered stones that flew from where the troll's mace landed.

Barst spotted his mace and ran toward it, but before he could get there, the troll stepped between him and the mace.

"You big ugly bastard" said the now-angered warlord. "You're gonna pay for that. Never… EVER get between me and my mace."

The troll twisted its hideous mouth sideways in what Barst thought was supposed to be a grin.

"Fine" shrugged Barst. "Then I'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way: WITH MY FISTS."

Barst surprised the troll with a sudden burst of speed, and landed a punch directly on the troll's jaw, causing the gray monstrosity to stagger back.

This action angered the troll greatly, and with a roar, the giant brute swung its spiked mace at Barst again. But because Barst didn't have his mace, he was lighter and therefore quicker, so he dodged the blow with ease and punched the troll again.

Barst went on the attack now, punching the troll again and again in its ribs, boxing it backward. The troll's tree trunk legs touched a pile of orc bodies that were slain by Barst, causing it to trip over the pile and fall onto its back. When it fell, the weight of the troll's body made the entire room shake.

With the cave troll now off its feet for the first time in the fight, Barst made a dash towards his mace again.

But the troll grabbed one of Barst's legs with its giant gray hand, jerking the warlord off his feet. Barst fell on the floor with a hard thud, his senses rattled for a moment. The troll got to its feet and tried to stomp Barst with its huge foot, but Barst quickly rolled sideways, dodging the stomp.

The gray giant raised its mace and brought it down toward Barst, who was able to roll sideways and dodge the blow again while the troll's mace smashed the floor completely.

Barst's hand touched something solid. It was the large stone. Barst closed his fingers around the stone and threw it at the troll's face, hitting it directly in the eyes and temporarily blinding it much like the troll's spit had blinded Barst earlier.

Realizing that could be his only opportunity to turn the fight in his favor, Barst went on the offensive again, getting near the troll and boxing it several times in the ribs. The troll tried to swat Barst away with one arm, but its accuracy was off and Barst was able to duck under the troll's arm, and punch it again.

Barst then pulled a new trick out of his sleeve. He jumped up and headbutted the troll directly in its forehead, the impact of the move being strengthened by Barst's hard metal helmet. The troll took a step back, but its thick skull meant that Barst's headbutt hadn't done much damage.

The troll snarled and headbutted Barst right back. The Urû'baen general staggered back more than the troll did, but his wards protected him from any further damage.

Barst tried to punch the troll again, but the troll saw it coming this time, and expertly blocked the punch by bringing up its giant forearm. The troll then brought its gigantic mace down on Barst, scoring a direct hit on the warlord!

Barst felt extremely lightheaded for an instant. He felt the strength of his wards drop significantly.

Barst wasn't sure his wards would hold up to another direct hit from the troll's mace.

Out of the corner of his eye, Barst noticed his mace laying on the ground mere inches away from him. Apparently he had rolled near it without noticing…

It was time to end this.

The proud Urû'baen warlord stood up to his full height and looked the cave troll right in its large black eyes. The troll snarled at Barst, irritated by the fact that this mere man had been able to fight so long against a troll by himself, something which was unheard of in Middle-Earth.

"You wanna finish me? Go ahead, finish me! yelled Barst at the troll. "But I _SWEAR_ upon my father's grave… that if you take ONE more step, it will be the last step you ever take. And I will smite you where you stand."

Overcome with rage, the troll roared at Barst. It took a step forward and raised its gigantic mace, attempting to land the finishing blow of the fight and splatter this arrogant human's guts all over the throne room.

Barst kicked the troll in the groin.

With a painful howl, the troll fell to its knees, the mace dropping from its hands.

The lord of Urû'baen reached down to grab his own mace, swung it high, and bashed the cave troll directly on its skull. The troll went limp and collapsed like a sack of potatoes, shaking the throne room when it landed on the floor.

Barst took a deep breath and leaned against the wall.

The fight was over. He had won.

"They told me to pick on someone my own size, and I picked on someone _twice_ my size. What's next?" Barst said jokingly, once again thinking back to his schoolyard days.

Barst brushed some dirt off his armor and started walking toward one of the tunnels. He still intended to see his mission through and find Sméagol. Wherever he was.

Suddenly, a rumble was heard from somewhere in the tunnel up ahead. It sounded like the coming of an earthquake.

THREE cave trolls burst out of the tunnel in front of Barst and roared at him.

Barst turned pale.

"Well... shit."

Barst turned around and ran like hell.

The 3 trolls pursued him. Rumbling down the throne room with footsteps that shook every wall and stone in sight, the monsters became even more enraged when they saw the dead body of their fellow troll.

Barst picked the smallest-looking tunnel he could see up ahead, and ran into it, hoping the trolls would not be able to follow him here. Much to his disappointment however, as soon as he went into the tunnel, Barst saw that it opened up into another large room.

The trolls burst through the tunnel's entrance with ease, and lumbered after Barst, who continued his retreat, hoping to find some small space where the trolls could not reach him. But he had no luck.

The trolls would be upon him soon, and Barst had a feeling that it would _not _be a merry gathering.

Suddenly, everything went white.

The strange flash of light was gone as quickly as it had come. Barst heard a dull rumble from somewhere up above. He looked upwards.

An avalanche of stones came crashing down from the ceiling, falling directly on top of the three trolls. An entire part of the ceiling seemed to crumble and fall down on the unfortunate brutes that were below it. Soon, the trolls were buried under tons of rock and dirt. They were no more.

Barst looked upon this scene with a mix of shock and wonder. The ceiling had only collapsed where the trolls had been. No stones had fallen on any other part of the room, or where Barst was.

Barst looked down at his chest.

Saruman's amulet was glowing.


End file.
